


Blossoms Softly in the Mountains

by archer_nebulae



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Canon Compliant, Depression, Element Deprivation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s04e06 Battle of Zaofu, Ethics, F/M, Family, Fear, Gen, Imprisonment, Lack-of-Your-Element-Induced-Depression, Missing Scene, Nausea, Social Overload, Trauma, beifong family - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24408697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archer_nebulae/pseuds/archer_nebulae
Summary: “I’m so disappointed in you, Junior.”“Take them away!”We see Huan and Baatar Sr. grabbed by soldiers at the very end of S04E06 "Battle of Zaofu."What happens between then and S04E10 "Operation Beifong"?
Relationships: Baatar Sr. & Huan, Baatar Sr./Suyin Beifong
Comments: 10
Kudos: 40





	Blossoms Softly in the Mountains

_“I’m so disappointed in you, Junior.”_

After speaking, his own back straight and posture strong, Baatar watched his son’s face. The harsh furrows of Junior’s expression were unfamiliar; the snarl of his mouth awful to see. Baatar did not understand it, did not understand how this strange man in front of him was also his son, and this put yet another ache in his heart. 

_“Take them away!”_

Baatar Sr. looked down and to the side, and then heard booted steps approaching. He turned toward it, and did not resist as the soldier seized his arms and walked him away from the citizens in the courtyard. Away from Su and Wei and Wing, locked in those metal contraptions and on display, like trophies.

 _“Get your hands_ off me! _You’re crushing my individuality.”_ That was Huan. 

_All hail the Great Uniter!”_ And Junior again. Then cheers rose up into the air. First from the guards, enthusiastic. From the citizens of Zaofu, perfunctory, and fading.

The masked soldier kept a strong grip on Baatar, pushing him past the green ranks standing at attention. They left the main courtyard and were pushed further into the dim-lit city and its long shadows. Baatar knew this area. It was in the largest blossom of Zaofu, right in the heart of downtown. Soldiers were everywhere. Marching. Entering buildings. As they walked, Baatar kept silent and considered. Beside him, Huan was glowering, movements sharp. Several soldiers had joined their rapid march. Based on the direction, he and Huan were moving to the nearest tramline. They were being taken from the city. 

Baatar took a deliberate breath, deep, but not particularly calming. The soldier’s grip on his arm was uncomfortable. Beside him, Huan was still silent, having not spoken since his first exclamation to the soldier grabbing him.

But where might they be going? Baatar ruled out the Eastern Blossom, which held the Beifong estate. Imprisoning himself and Huan there -- let alone Su and the twins -- wouldn’t be worth the number of guards needed for the task. It was also home territory, so to speak. As Baatar understood it, the spirits of the land would side with the Beifongs. 

Along that thought, Baatar realized, all of Zaofu would be ruled out. Keeping the original leaders of the city inside the captured territory would be asking for trouble. Kuvira was too cautious for that. Could they be destined for one of the dissenter camps? 

Baatar realized that they might not find out until they got there. 

And even worse: There was nothing he could do. 

He was an architect. Now he was being pushed from the city he loved -- the city he had designed and built with the love of his life -- by his oldest son. He’d never before felt this lack of stability, of having no direction to turn to. And he wasn’t a bender, nor even a fighter. If Baatar resisted, he was quite certain he would do absolutely no damage. 

During his musing, yet more soldiers had taken up formation around them. And now they had reached the tramline. There was a pause as the soldiers organized themselves. 

Baatar glanced at his son. Huan was scowling.

All the guards wore masks, and Baatar couldn’t distinguish who among them had the most authority. 

Then Baatar found himself and Huan in the center of attention. Their arms were re-positioned, held out from their torsos. And several of the guards gestured, and all the metal adornments on their clothes started tearing off. Their bracers and metal plates. It was all discarded onto the ground, several meters away. It was painless, over in seconds, but somehow disturbed Baatar deeply. Su and Huan had shaped those adornments for their family. And now it was all out of his hands.

One of the soldiers said, “So you are Baatar Beifong, Senior, correct?”

“Yes. Where are you taking us?” Baatar studied him, and saw that he had a double chevron on his uniform. But several other soldiers he had seen had that too. Baatar decided to assume this man was in command anyway.

“Out of the city,” the man said crisply. “Your glasses are platinum based. You can keep them. And you’re a non-bender?”

Baatar noticed his heartbeat thudding, but persevered. “Yes. Do you know where my wife and sons are being taken?”

“It’s none of my business and none of yours,” the soldier replied. “And you,” the soldier said, “You’re Huan Beifong? And you’re a bender?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. And your piercings are platinum too. No problem there.” He paused. “We appreciate your honesty. Always nice to see obedient prisoners every-once-and-a-while.” Then, in a louder tone, the man said, “The usual for each of them.”

Two soldiers held his arms forward, while yet a third stepped forward and locked handcuffs around Baatar’s wrists. Platinum ones, Baatar suspected, though he couldn’t feel the metal like a bender to be sure. The same was done to Huan. And then soldiers held his son’s legs in place, while they locked handcuffs around his ankles too. 

Baatar’s heartbeat sped up again. He met his son’s wide eyes and turned abruptly toward that commanding soldier.

“No,” Baatar said. He gestured in appeal. “That’s not necessary. We aren’t fighters, we’re just civilians.”

“No benders are just civilians,” said the soldier in command. “Let’s go. And no more talking.”

Baatar stumbled as he was pushed onto the tramline, in the wake of that soldier. He was bracketed into one corner of the tram. He saw Huan half-carried, half-dragged into another corner. He tried to lock eyes with Huan, but his son’s eyes were hidden behind his hair. 

So Baatar watched the buildings of his city pass by and disappear in the shadows outside the tram, and then outside the metal shields of the downtown Blossom. The valley looked almost diseased. The ranks of the army were grotesque -- a washed-out green in the setting sun, flooding through the fields, up in into the blossoms of the city. Baatar Sr. wondered how badly the harvests would be damaged from the weight of the Earth Empire’s boots and war machines. After about ten minutes, the tram reached the Western Blossom. This one was the lowest elevation, and was also the location of the station for the magnet trains. 

As they were moved into the station, Baatar saw that all of Zaofu’s trains were either derailed, or moved to the back of the station. In the forefront were several trains emblazoned with Kuvira’s Earth Empire insignia. Baatar Sr. wanted to resist, but he didn’t know how. He didn’t know how to keep himself and his son safe, except to obey the soldiers, and even that might not work. 

They were brought onto the nearest train, and pushed through several compartments into one that had prison cells. Baatar was herded into one, and the soldiers dropped Huan inside it as soon as Baatar was far enough in. That was one small relief; they weren’t separated. The door of the cell shut with a clang. Baatar crouched next to his son.

“It’s all platinum,” said the soldier from before. “So don’t try anything. Reach through the bars and we’ll release the cuffs.”

Baatar got his wrists uncuffed, and then helped Huan position his legs and arms through the bars. As soon as they were released, most of the soldiers left the compartment. Baatar thought one had veered up a ladder, toward the ceiling, but he wasn’t certain. At least Kuvira’s military was professional.

Though they hadn’t really been apart, Baatar gave his son a look-over anyway. His wrists looked sore, and his ankles probably were too, but there was nothing Baatar could do for that. Huan was still scowling, and his fists were clenched. Baatar noticed his son knock solidly on the platinum floor, and then set his palm there. Trying to reach earth or metal, Baatar Sr. realized with a pang.

“Is a hug alright?” Baatar asked. He dearly wished for one, but his son - this one, anyway - did not always enjoy them.

A pause. Then: “Yeah. Thanks, dad.” Huan slumped into Baatar, and his chin rested heavy on Baatar’s shoulder. Baatar clutched him in return and let out a shuddering breath. They were both safe, unharmed. That would have to do, for the moment; Baatar’s quaking heartbeat started to calm.

“What’s going to happen to Wei and Wing? And mom?” 

Baatar’s heart wrenched. “I don’t know. I suspect that Kuvira will have them moved to a more permanent prison. Once she doesn’t need to display them to Zaofu. As incentive to obey her, I suspect.”

Huan sighed. In response, Baatar Sr. held him tighter.

Seeing their family in those contraptions, alive but trapped and so desolate looking. He hadn’t been able to meet Su’s eyes. Baatar had never thought to see her head hanging like that; he’d never thought it possible. She was so confident, so assured. And his dear, courageous sons -- still scowling at the injustice of Kuvira’s treatment toward their citizens.

Horrible only barely summed up that sight. And Kuvira standing above them, standing at the top of the stairs that lead into Zaofu’s government building. Being expected _to bow_ to her. It was too much.

Huan started to pull away, so Baatar leaned back too, keeping his hand on Huan’s shoulder. 

“What about us?” his son murmured. 

“You probably suspect this too...I think we’re being moved out of the city. Out of the valley entirely, probably. From what I understand of tactics, this is common. In a war, it wouldn’t do to keep the original leaders of the city _in_ the one you just conquered.”

“Hmm. War?”

Baatar Sr. replayed what he had just said in his mind. A war. He’d spoken without thinking, but his words were no less accurate. 

“The United Forces _won’t_ stand for what Kuvira is continuing to do. Now that she’s taken Zaofu---” Baatar continued, pained “---I don’t think she will just stop. If she goes for Republic City, as I suspect she might, the UF will have to be involved.”

“Why would she attack Republic City? It and the United Republic of Nations are a sovereign state.”

Huan was correct; the other nations shouldn’t have any reason to interfere with the United Republic. Though Huan knew history and the basics of current politics, Baatar Sr. knew most of his attention was usually on the emotions and experiences of those things. Not necessarily unraveling the political intentions or motivations.

“The land used to be part of the Earth Kingdom,” Baatar pointed out. “And during the Hundred Year War, the land was one of the first areas to become a Fire Nation colony.”

“Our land _is_ important,” said Huan, uncertain. “It’s in our spirits, our bending, our history.”

“Yes. But that land really _isn’t_ Earth Kingdom anymore.”

“Ahh!” said Huan, having thought a moment. “The 52nd Earth King, Kuei, he granted the land it’s sovereignty from the Earth Kingdom. As the spiritual leader of our people, he determines the legitimacy of claims to land.” Huan was holding his chin with one hand, in thought, gesturing absently with the fingers of the other. “And since he named the land as intended for all nations, benders and nonbenders, the spirits of the land aren’t just Earth Kingdom anymore. It would be going to war, because the land might _remember_ Earth, but isn’t beholden to it alone anymore.”

“Exactly what I’m thinking. Although the first four nations are separate from the United Republic, all of them _are_ invested in its success. So, all of the nations are -- well, not obligated -- say, highly motivated about the defense and success of the United Republic of Nations, and its capital city,” Baatar Sr. agreed. Then he stifled a yawn, suddenly feeling the weight of the day. 

“But then why would Kuvira feel justified in attacking? It’s obvious the land isn’t claimed only by Earth!” A pause, and Huan muttered: “Even to a vacuous specimen of a human that doesn’t acknowledge the relations of the spirits.”

“True enough,” Baatar Sr. said. “Though for all that Kuvira is -- I wouldn’t say vacuous is part of it. She wouldn’t have gotten this far if she was,” he said, ending with a sigh. He thought a moment. “I wonder. The coronation broadcast weeks ago -- she doesn’t believe in the legitimacy, even necessity, of the Earth King. She doesn’t recognize the authority of the spirits of our land. Or the need for a mediator, which is supposed to be the role of our Earth Kings and Earth Queens.”

Huan quickly finished excavating Baatar’s thoughts. “She thinks... that because she’s brought order to the _people_ of the Earth Kingdom, that means she also has authority over the _land._ But that isn’t a true correlation.” 

Huan curled over his knees, staring absently at the platinum bars. “I thought Baatar understood the spirits,” Huan said, expression flat. He gestured at Baatar Sr. “He never seemed otherwise. You do. And you worked together.”

Baatar said, “We weren’t ever discussing spirits, though.” 

And Baatar Sr. wondered if that was something more for him to regret. Maybe he should have shared his thoughts with Baatar Jr., not only Huan and Opal. Maybe he shouldn’t have let Suyin’s bitter rage at the Earth Queen speak so loud, distracting from all other perspectives.

Huan hummed, and then was silent. Baatar sighed and stretched his arms gently.

“Should we try to sleep?” Baatar asked. “It is pretty late.”

Huan shrugged. “Suppose.”

Baatar lay down. And then a thought struck him. “Huan?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m glad we stood. Thank you.”

“Uhm. Yeah, dad.”

So they slept, or at least, Baatar did. He hadn’t slept at all the night prior, when Suyin had left with their sons to get Kuvira. He wasn’t sure how far they would go -- or how far Kuvira would go in response. He wasn’t even sure whether a preemptive strike had been right, but he didn’t feel equipped to tell Su ‘no’ either. Not with that, with their city at the precipice. 

The confrontation with Kuvira, Junior, and Bolin was on his mind last night, too. And then the whole day following had been interspersed with frenetic rushing, and anxious waiting -- first as they waited for dawn, and through it, and then as Kuvira and her army marched through Zaofu and herded up all their citizens. 

So he slept, because he needed it. The last time he had stayed awake for so long was years and years ago, when he and Suyin had first met, a simple professional consultation. Yet he had started drafting that same day, right after their meeting, and had worked clear through to the next day. Struck with inspiration -- and maybe something else, too. He could admit that now. 

When he woke, he was lying on his side, his glasses pinched between his cheek and the floor. Baatar rolled onto his back, and looked at the sad grey ceiling, and sighed.

Suddenly, Huan leaned into sight. “Hey,” he said.

Baatar smiled slightly. “Hello. Have they fed us yet?”

Huan shook his head, and sat back so Baatar could sit up. He did so, and then scooted back to lean against the compartment wall, his legs crossed. His back and hips ached. He stretched gently. Huan stood, and started pacing. Baatar got the sense his son had been doing so, even prior to Baatar waking.

Baatar looked at the bars of the cell, and time passed. He already missed waking up in the morning to have tea, and to breathing the clear air of the valley. Then, there was a sudden ker-chunk; a feeling of movement.

“We’re underway,” said Baatar. 

“He’s louder than he used to be,” Huan said, abrupt, still pacing, now in a “U” shape around Baatar. Huan’s narrow face was half-shrouded by his hair. It was some combination of sleep-mussed and finger-combed, and looked rather adorable. But then, Baatar always thought that. Out of all his children, Huan had the most spectacular bedhead. He got that from Baatar himself.

Now Baatar focused, and thought of Huan’s comment. He rubbed his goatee. Junior had shouted in his face. That had been... Loud. Awful. And the day before, Junior had spoken similarly during the initial meeting, following Kuvira’s arrival at Zaofu. Baatar considered what Junior had accused him of then -- that Junior was always working in his shadow. Had that been true? Had Junior only said that to hurt him?

Baatar ran is fingers through his hair. Either way, the hurt had landed.

“He is,” Baatar said finally. He laced his fingers together in his lap. “Huan, do you think, was he always so unhappy?”

Huan was silent for several minutes. His expression fluctuated as he thought, but Baatar couldn’t distinguish what emotions were running through his son’s mind. Then, softly: “When he finished apprenticing with Master Engineer Shuo, he seemed content. He was finally working on projects with you. It was before the Earth Queen died,” Huan added, flicking his fingers in the air.

Baatar understood that Huan was indicating the two years -- or was it three? -- that he and Junior had worked together actively, prior to Junior’s three years rebuilding the Earth Kingdom. They’d worked as a team, Baatar had thought. 

But what had gone wrong? Something must have, and Baatar had no clear vision of what it was. He leaned his elbows on his knees, and rested his chin in his hands.

It felt so hard to focus, but Baatar had to try. Images of Su and the twins kept bending to the front of his mind. What had Junior said, that he had been working in Baatar’s shadow? Baatar had to take that as sincere, though it shook his heart. He could not think of his son as malicious enough to say something he did not truly believe.

So Junior felt that Baatar had treated him unjustly. But, Baatar was _certain_ that he’d had his son’s name on every project that he’d worked on. During opening receptions, or speeches, Baatar was sure he had spoken of his son -- of the marvelous solutions he’d realized to fix the tramlines crossing the river, for example.

Or the critical updates needed to the sewer infrastructure -- which Baatar Jr. had finally solved, integrating the old system with the new updates. Baatar Sr. was so proud of his son for these accomplishments -- necessary and difficult puzzles in turn. But his son must have seen these things differently.

The magnet train hummed along. Several soldiers stopped in, and one slid in trays of congee. They ate quietly, then set the dishes against one wall of the cell.

Baatar Sr. found himself missing his cozy drafting room.

Huan suddenly spoke, and Baatar looked up at him. His son had been pacing.

“I’m working on a sculpture - a true masterpiece,” Huan said. His arms were crossed, and he was looking toward the bars of their cell. Baatar thought he looked uncomfortable, but didn’t interrupt. “The base is wide, the flat surface of an equilateral triangle, representing a strong foundation. But also for support. Sprouting from it is a glorious flower. It’s blossoming, in the beginning of life, opening into the world.” He gestured. “But just a couple edges are wilting -- and some are thorny -- the contrast is the ultimate visual of the contradictions of life.” 

As he spoke, Huan was gesturing with his fingers, as if still manipulating the metal for his sculptures. Huan continued, more passion in his voice, “But I have the balance wrong -- the positions of the blooming petals and the wilting ones -- the layers of the different twists -- flawed. And from between the base and the blossom, there is one leafy vine, twisting out, dramatic and pained, reaching up.” 

Huan paused. His posture hunched a little. “I think of Baatar when I work on it.”

“The sculpture sounds a lot like him,” Baatar said, while fiddling with his fingers. “More than I would have thought, two or three years ago. Does he know about it?”

“No. Started it after he left.” 

That reminded Baatar -- Huan had done a similar thing in remembrance of Opal, when she left for the Air Temple three years ago. The finished sculpture was like a plant taking flight, or so it seemed to Baatar. A blossom of spiky and swirling metal, pointing toward the sky. Two draping leaves, like wings, emerging underneath the blossom. It balanced on one long strip of metal, the stem, slightly curved, and tapering down to a deceivingly small base. The perfect sculpture for an airbender, Baatar had thought then. 

“Like you did for Opal?” Baatar said, “Something called to you?”

“Yeah.” Huan turned and sat next to Baatar, and leaned into his left shoulder. “We’d design art, things, and I’d bend the metal for both the art and the engineering of the work. He’d have to remind me to be careful to leave stuff with joints, or pulleys, or whatever. It was annoying, but I didn’t mind so much. Or we’d work on projects together. Different projects, but in the same room.”

“I enjoy that too,” Baatar Sr. said. “Opal was usually off with mom, then, wasn’t she?” He remembered how Opal would sit with Su while she meditated in the garden. And Opal had loved learning bending forms from Su, though their daughter never was able to move the rocks. They since knew why!

“And Wei and Wing, once they were old enough to stand and start learning forms,” said Huan. “It was obvious they would enjoy it all.” 

There was a pause.

Baatar Sr. wanted to keep talking with his son, but wasn’t sure what to ask. He finally settled on, casually curious, “Recently you’ve been working on abstract pieces. ‘Convergence From Above’ may be both the moment, and about the moment, of convergence. How do you know to use the abstract for those pieces, and not also for the sculptures in remembrance of others?”

“They’re not abstract,” Huan replied. He spoke with the tone of stating something obvious. “Their emotions, their souls are raw and fleeting. The metal is sharp as it turns,” he said, gesturing. “But they’re also not an event, not big like Harmonic Convergence.” He shrugged. “It’s different.”

Baatar gazed absently out the cell as he broke that down. Huan meant that the people -- Baatar Jr., Opal -- weren’t abstract. But some parts of them were? Overall, using an abstract style apparently wasn’t fitting. Baatar was still curious, though.

“Why blossoms?”

Huan hummed. “There’s mountains of emotion in them. There’s enough room for nuance, and Baatar has a lot of that,” he added wryly. Then, in a firm tone, “It was just obvious. Nothing else would sculpt.” 

“Thank you for sharing,” Baatar Sr. said, and smiled. He put his left arm across his son’s shoulders. “When all this is over, let’s do another project, if you’re up for it? I was thinking we might want to make a sort of display room -- series of rooms even -- somewhere in the downtown Blossom. Interested?”

Huan nodded. “Full of a forest -- blossoming from the building.” He curled on himself, resting his chin on his knees. His black hair swept over his face, hiding Huan’s expressions from Baatar’s sight. 

“Engineering some of them to move in the wind would interest him,” Huan muttered. 

Baatar Sr. nodded, slow and sad.

“It burns me,” Huan said. His tone had dropped low. “Thinking of the sculpture. Thinking of him. After that ‘peace talk’ meeting, I almost wrenched it apart, almost crushed it; but I’ve spent _years_ working on it.” As he spoke, Huan flexed one of his hands, and seemed to be looking at it as he did so. 

Baatar could imagine what it would look like. What once was a blossom, would become a jagged hunk of metal in the worst way. It would look disjointed, as if crushed between giant fingers. In a way, it would have been, due to Huan’s precision metalbending.

“The way he spoke to you and mom during it. And yesterday -- demanding us to _bow_ \-- I’m so _angry_.” Huan shuddered. “I wanted to attack him. I’d never _wanted_ that before, against anyone,” he whispered. 

“I think that’s normal?” Baatar Sr. said, his voice spontaneously higher. He did not feel emotionally equipped to help, but this was his son. He wouldn’t choose to be anywhere else.

Huan looked over abruptly. “It’s normal to want to attack your brother?” There were tear tracks on his face, and Baatar Sr. couldn’t recall the moment in their conversation that his son must have begun crying.

“Well not exactly,” Baatar said. He gestured anxiously with his right arm, while griping Huan tighter with the left. “It’s normal to be angry; it’s normal that it _hurts._ I think that’s how you know you’ve taken a wound, even though it’s not physical.”

“It feels pretty physical.” Huan said, and looked away.

“The wound is in your spirit, your heart, like it is in mine. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t cause physical responses. Yes, I’m rather fractured too,” Baatar Sr. added, sad and wry, at Huan’s startled look. “He’s _my son._ And your brother. I am angry, too. And sad, and disappointed, and already so tired of this conflict.”

“Feeling conflicted is asinine! I want to shove his face into the rubble that he thinks he’s built. This is _not_ a better Earth Kingdom! But how can I _want_ to attack him? He’s my brother. We were the only ones who didn’t enjoy learning the combative forms. But doesn’t he see he’s in an _army?_ Why is he so different? How can I be _like_ him?” Huan was gasping and shuddering as he spoke. 

“Huan, come here.” Baatar pulled his son into a tight hug. Tears dripped down Baatar’s own cheeks; he startled himself. “I’m sorry. I don’t have any easy answers for us. He’s broken our trust, shattered our family,” Baatar Sr. said. 

It ached to think of his eldest son this way. But it was true, undeniably so. If their family was anything, it was Earth. And Earth was not about to deny the obvious. 

“We’d have to talk to him, to really know why he’s acting the way he is. Why he believes his actions are just. I don’t know if we’ll get the chance for that conversation… But I’ll hope for it. I have to.”

Huan’s breath was still shuddering into Baatar’s shoulder. Baatar changed focus, trying to comfort his son. “Huan. You’re like him; he’s your brother. But you’re also enormously different. You value different things, and your passions follow different paths, and sometimes those paths change, or get redirected after a rockslide. And it’s okay--” Baatar said suddenly, with energy “--to fight. It’s okay to need it, and to want it. To use _bending_ for fighting. I think it’s just how you choose to use it, _that’s_ most important.”

“Even to fight Baatar?”

“Maybe.” Baatar Sr. closed his eyes. The tears still escaped. “I’m not sure what’s best.” He took a deep breath. “I can’t tell you to attack him, even to save us. I can’t. I think Su would give you different advice, but here we are. But Huan, it’s. I can’t tell you _not_ to confront him, them, either. It’s not something I can choose, nor have the right to choose,” he said finally. 

Baatar Sr. pulled back from the hug so he could look at Huan’s face. He still held his son’s shoulders. “When you think of Junior, what comes first?” 

Huan looked to the side, swiped his face with his sleeve, then looked back at Baatar. “A vortex. All the things he’s done, little things that keep counting up a higher toll. How he’s treated us. how careless he is now. This can’t go on. I see myself facing them; helping Korra maybe, or mom. It seems so easy. Too easy.” Huan drew back and looked at his hands, which were trembling.

“Toph did say you’re one of the strongest earthbenders she knows.”

“I love it. Bending. Saying that is kind of pedestrian.” Huan shrugged. “But it’s kinda true, so.” Huan paused. Continued, “I guess. It’s cool, what we can do. That’s what Wei and Wing think.”

Baatar nodded. “It’s very cool,” he murmured, a quiet agreement.

“Yeah. And Aunt Lin is _so_ cool. I want to sculpt something of her, but I don’t _have it_ yet,” he added as an aside. His breathing had calmed a little, through this. “She uses bending all the time.”

“She uses it within the law, and to uphold it. Do you think using bending for the police is different from the army? What about Avatar Korra?” Baatar prompted.

Huan put a hand to his chin and leaned his elbows on his knees. He was silent for several minutes. Baatar was patient. And, in his experience, these sorts of conversations were always the best ones. 

“With the police, bending is a tool for the benefit of everyone in the community, for protection, organization. It’s aggressive. But also it’s the most Earth. To wait and listen, and then to act. In the army, it’s kinda different?” Huan said. His eyebrows were pinched together. “It’s kinda the same as the police, but even more about action -- defense, attack, either -- because the benders are even more under the command of others.”

“In both cases, there are also restrictions to protect civilians from those organizations, and vice-versa. When those organizations are working correctly, no one should be getting hurt.”

“Hrmmhm. It’s only in really specific conditions that benders are supposed to attack. I guess, because those benders have a position of authority, they need to be even more careful how they use it?”

“I agree with that,” said Baatar. “Though you might say that’s true of all benders. But especially public and government organizations, as you mention. Avatar Korra needs to be the most careful, since she’s responsible not just for her own herself. She represents both the humans and the spirits, and so the impact of her bending has an impact on everyone.”

“I don’t want to be responsible for other people that way,” Huan said, waving his fingers absently. He sighed. “I kinda knew that already -- I would have joined the Zaofu guards or something if I wanted to do that stuff.”

“Is it about the different ways to use your _bending_? Or is it about the different ways to be a person in the world?” Baatar paused, then elaborated. “You mention action. And to one extent or another, the police, the U.F. army, and the Avatar are all about action -- _for others_. But the people that are the bedrock of those organizations -- they first took action for _themselves_. They chose a path that gives them freedom to act -- and their action is often bending, but I suspect sometimes isn’t -- but for what reason?”

“So it’s not a _bending_ thing,” Huan said, working out his thoughts. “It’s about being able to chose tasks that use bending? No, not just that… It’s about why and how. It’s about the constantly blossoming emotion that scrapes in their hearts; there’s always something better, something more _right_ to make happen. They want to see it all flow out in ways that are faithful to the furious expectations they have for the world.”

“They want to stay standing. Even in situations where no one else will, or can.”

Huan nodded firmly. “Yeah. That’s important to me.”

“To us both,” Baatar agreed.

“But, do we have to fight to do that? That’s what mom and my brothers tried to do two nights ago. And Korra, yesterday morning.” Huan paused, then continued. “But I should fight, if I get the chance. Mom will expect me to. We need all the help we can find, right?”

“We might,” Baatar Sr. said, mildly.

“I should fight,” Huan said, almost to himself. “But I don’t want to. Or I do? There’s the anger. In my breath, and it’s the tension in my arms. It doesn’t feel right to bend from that, but its almost the only thing in my focus. Like I’d loose control. Like I’d cross the line, trying to push _them_ back over to their own lines. Is it _right_ for me to choose not to try?” He suddenly turned to Baatar again, studying Baatar’s own face.

Baatar nodded, expression serious. He considered Huan’s position. His son was a bender, and that meant he was a fighter. But he also wasn’t a fighter -- not like Su, or Lin, and not at all like Korra and her friends. Baatar Sr. was struggling to define the schematics of this juncture, about _why_ these distinctions were significant. 

“I think you’re part of a generation that gets to choose, more than ever before, how to use bending. Earthbending was historically been used in building homes, fortresses, in maintaining fields, and in the military. And still is.” Baatar paused, then continued, “But recently, there’s been pro-bending -- using earthbending just for, well, fun. Not unlike Wei and Wing,” he added, smiling. “And you’re using metalbending to make sculptures -- for the beauty of it. And even our city -- something made entirely of metal would be seen as frivolous. Still is, considering that at first, your mom and I had so much trouble acquiring people willing to help us do the work. What I mean is, if your spirit tells you that bending sculptures into being is right. Then it’s right.”

Huan pivoted his body, facing Baatar more head-on. One arm rested over his crossed legs, while Huan’s other arm gestured in a wave. “But, dad. I already know sculpture is how I’m saying stuff. I notice things -- stuff that only feels in a moment -- and I make it permanent. Observable.”

Baatar shrugged his shoulders slightly and looked to the side. He felt reluctant to make a be-all end-all statement about how Huan should use his own bending. That was how he approached Baatar Jr., just before his son had left with Kuvira.

“Dad. What do you think about fighting?”

“You know I grew up in Ba Sing Se,” he replied. He’d shared little anecdotes often enough with all his children. “There’s the playground made of old Fire Nation tanks, with the Tank Tower in the middle. Every kid wanted to be the coolest, and wave to everyone from the top, right next to the Earth Kingdom flag planted there.

“When I went to University, there was a project to provide burials for all the soldiers who died on the Wall. To try to name them, and make sure their spirits were put to rest in our land. It had been started ten years before, and was still going, because that many soldiers died, over the hundred years. All on the Wall, who died for a war that didn’t even exist in the city.”

Remembering that, and the depths of the catacombs for the Hundred Year War, made Baatar’s eyes sting. He glanced at his son, and saw him nod. Huan was listening intently. Baatar glanced away again, looking out the bars of the cell.

“The scale of death -- it shook me. It still does. I was glad to leave the city with your mother. Ba Sing Se is one of the oldest structures of our land, built layer upon layer, and she remembers the deaths that lay on her doorsteps. So to me, violent death is not an acceptable end to a conflict. It doesn’t create lasting solutions. _Violence_ though -- fighting -- that is necessary. In defense of the self and others, and to negate the violence of an attacker.

Baatar sighed. “If you would like my advice. I would say that if you enter combat with Baatar Jr. and Kuvira -- if you cannot fight them and maintain your control, your precision, and then catch them -- without killing them! -- Then you should not join the fight at all.” Baatar paused, and softened his tone. “These are the thoughts of a non-bender, though, who does not have to make the choice that you do, my son. You must decide what you value, and what you can risk, and act on that.”

And then Baatar fell silent. He looked again to Huan, studied his son’s expression. His green eyes were focused, eyebrows furrowed. His son held his chin in his hand, mouth hidden, looking at Baatar himself. Suddenly, Baatar felt rather like a statue, being observed by an expert. 

Eventually, Huan smiled. “Thanks, dad.”

“You’re welcome. And, Huan. I’m proud of you for thinking about your bending -- what you want to do, and why. It’s good to know yourself.”

They nodded at each other. 

A pause. 

Metal-shod footsteps.

An Earth Empire soldier slid into view, just outside the bars of their cell. “Hey, I’m the guard here, uh,” the soldier said, voice high. “That was the most intense conversation I’ve ever overheard. Which I did accidentally! 'Cus I’m stationed here. Uh, just. Hope things work out for you guys.”

The soldier inched back out of sight. Then, whispered: “And, uh. Don’t tell Kuvira I said that. Please.”

Baatar glanced at his son. Huan was already looking at him. 

Baatar raised his eyebrows. 

Huan shrugged. Then widened his eyes emphatically. 

“I guess this train has shoddy engineering,” Baatar Sr. said. He made his tone as exaggerated as he could. “It sure has a lot of. Uh. Creaks.” Baatar widened his own eyes dramatically. “So loud and distracting. In my old age I can hardly hear anything at all.”

Huan snickered.

There was yet another lull. Baatar Sr. listened to the magnet train hum and dozed off slightly. He was startled out of it, perhaps ten minutes later, by Huan.

‘But wait,” said Huan. He tapped a finger against the air, drumming out a thought. “What you said earlier -- Korra does take action for others. But did she really get to choose that? She was born the Avatar, right?”

Baatar Sr. nodded. He stretched his back absently, tried to recall that slope of conversation. “That’s a good point. As for Korra… in some ways she didn’t get a choice. She _was_ born the Avatar. I believe the spirits wouldn’t be so cruel as to pick a child that would loathe the life of bending, but that doesn’t mean coming to terms with a world’s expectations isn’t hard,” Baatar said slowly, working out his thoughts as he spoke. He rubbed his long goatee. The magnet train hummed along.

“I would also say, though, that Korra does choose. She chose to come to Zaofu, because she knew Kuvira’s army was here, too. She knew what that meant for us. Once she learns about an injustice, ultimately it’s her choice to step in -- and not just because we expect her to. Though probably expectations do play a part,” Baatar noted. 

“But because of who she is and what she believes, we know Korra _will_ come to help. We know _why_ she makes her choices, and so we can speculate on what choices she would make -- ultimately Korra the person believes in a world in balance. And Korra the Avatar has the power to enforce that. Both the widescaping world, the land and the spirits, and the smaller worlds -- the voices of a community and their strife.”

Huan hummed. He stood and started pacing the cell again. “Korra is accountable to no one, and to everyone. She would choose to fight. Or not quite -- she hoped to find resolve between mom and Kuvira verbally first.”

“I do wonder how much dialogue Kuvira was going to tolerate. Bringing an army as part of your committee rather limits what conversation can do!” 

“Hmmph,” said Huan, and Baatar Sr. joined him in a half-hearted laugh. 

After, Huan continued: “Korra’s kinda an exception, then. But. I guess she is still a good example to follow. Like she did in Zaofu. When I’m in conflicts in the future, I want to keep trying to get a rapport created first. If conversation had worked, if mom had been more patient… maybe we wouldn’t be here now.”

“That’s possible,” Baatar Sr. acknowledged. “Or it could be Kuvira would have escalated the situation instead of Su. It’s hard to know.”

The conversation stopped rolling naturally. Baatar Sr. observed Huan, still moving about the cell. Then asked softly, “You’ve been pacing a great deal. Is there more on your mind?”

Huan shrugged. Then swept his arm through the air, gesturing toward their past conversation. “Just all that. Restless. But it’s not like when I’m working in my atelier. Something’s missing.”

“I’m hear to listen if you need it,” Baatar Sr. said.

His son nodded. They returned their own internal worlds. Baatar Sr. gazed absently out the cell again, his thoughts jumping through his memories and his worries. At one point they felt the magnet train stop, but no soldiers came to take them -- only a guard rotation in their compartment -- and perhaps other things, though they could only speculate. Then the train hummed onward, until, finally, it slowed again and the soldiers came.

“This is your stop,” said the same soldier as before. Baatar recognized the voice, though all the faces were masked. “Here’s how it’s gonna go. You’re going to put these on him.”

The soldier held out two pairs of wooden shackles. Baatar could only look at them, aghast. 

“You’re going to put your own hands through the bars for these.” The soldiers gestured with a third pair. “Then we’re departing the train. You make no trouble, you’ll get no trouble. Am I clear?”

Baatar glanced to Huan, saw his green eyes. Huan nodded, expression flat. Baatar closed his own eyes and took a rapid breath in search of calm. “Yes,” he said, and the word burned.

Then he took the shackles from the soldier and put them on his son, wrists and ankles. Huan balanced awkwardly against the wall of the compartment. After that, the soldier gestured him closer, and Baatar’s own wrist were shackled through the small horizontal slot in the bars -- designed for just that purpose. 

Then the soldier unlocked the bars. The soldiers quickly surrounded them, and marched them through and out of the train. At one point, Baatar saw that the soldiers simply carried Huan to speed up the process.

Then Baatar Sr. blinked in the light outside. The sun was on one side, or the other, of noon. Baatar had little time to adjust; the soldier quickly had them marching through the encampment. From between their heads and shoulders, Baatar saw they were on a barren, brown field. It seemed like an open plain, but he quickly lost the view as they moved between buildings.

Baatar suspected this was a prison camp of some sort, and the glimpses he got of other people in ragged clothes didn’t disprove the notion. But the area also seemed like a factory. Baatar wondered how Kuvira and his son could possibly justify this treatment of their own citizens. He couldn’t fathom the reasons, or the logic that would permit this. 

Then, at some cue unclear to Baatar, their small procession stopped. Several soldiers started bending the earth beneath them, digging into the stone and bedrock, and so a set of stairs opened up. Baatar felt his heart thud strangely. He did not like the feel of this; he was reluctant to descend. But the soldiers pulled him onward. 

They descended down the stairs, which turned into a sloping tunnel. It was very dark, and the soldiers made no effort to light the way. Baatar supposed they knew where they were without it -- all earthbenders, apparently. It worried him that they two Beifongs were being treated very differently from the other prisoners.

They passed through doors, all embedded in thick metal, which covered the extent of the tunnel. Baatar was certain some of these gates, if not all of them, were platinum. Then they passed through one last one, and as the soldiers bustled about, Baatar saw the prison surely intended for them, and couldn’t help but gape at it open-mouthed.

It was a prison, but even more so it was a brutal cage. It was suspended and tethered with cords that were each easily twenty meters, anchored into the cavern ceiling, and the sides of the pit below. The cords _did not_ look thick enough. The cage was all wood; thick beams on all sides, all crossing over each other, so that there were square openings throughout the structure. There was no illusion of privacy. Not even of security or stability. 

Suddenly and completely, it terrified Baatar. His heart was racing. The back of his neck felt both burning hot and chilled. Was the cavern growing dimmer? It seemed like everything in sight was becoming washed with grey.

The soldiers and guards were bending metal plates into a path over the dark chasm. They started pulling Baatar toward it, hand touching his arms, shoulders, back. He stumbled, and gasped heavily in response to that lack of balance. Had he almost fallen? 

He could barely make himself walk.

Behind him, Huan gasped. “Dad!” Then he grunted, and Baatar heard metal shredding.

Then the distinctive sound of rocks crumbling and cracking.

Baatar Sr. felt another spike of fear. Huan was bending. He wouldn’t be able to defeat all these soldiers; his son might get knocked off the fragile metal boardwalk. They _couldn’t_ fight here. 

He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know _how_ he could make his son ok with this, or if he even truly wanted to. How could he let this happen? But Baatar didn’t know what else he could do. He didn’t know, and this was all so outside _everything_ he knew.

The soldiers manhandled him next to the cage. Baatar found himself wrapped in metal cords, around his arms and torso, and hoisted on top of it.

It wobbled underneath the shifting weight of himself and the two soldiers holding him. Baatar couldn’t help but whimper slightly. It felt like he was about to fall, and the only ones stopping that were these Earth Empire soldiers.

Simultaneously, one unlocked his shackles and the other bended the metal wires to lower him inside. He landed on his feet with a thud, but wobbled and went to his knees. The cage was swaying gently.

He felt the wood under his hands. Only wood, and then a long drop. 

Baatar groaned. He felt dizzy. He desperately tried to control his breathing; he had to be strong for Huan. Where was his son? When he looked up, and through the wooden beams, it all seemed to shift strangely. Baatar couldn’t tell if that was the nausea, or if the cage was really moving. 

“Come on, kid, cool it.”

“Ow! Stop it. Fuck.”

One of the soldiers on the wooden cage: “We’ll have the dad unlock the shackles, just get him over here.”

There was the heavy boots of the soldiers. Metallic shredding sounds. Rocks tumbling against each other. Various clangs and the distinct whine of metal being bended and manipulated.

“AHHhh!” Huan gasped, high pitched. He was dropped in, and landed on his side, breathing heavily. Huan groaned, leaning up on his elbows. His hair messy, eyes wide. “D-dad?”

Baatar crawled closer, kneeled, and pulled Huan against his chest. He wrapped his arms tightly around his son, and rested his forehead against the back of Huan’s head. “Right here. It’s okay. We’re okay,” repeating for Huan, and himself.

Somewhere around them: “No injuries?” a soldier said. Several voices, their words unintelligible, in response. Then, louder: “Feng got knocked over the edge. Looks like they caught themself, though.”

A heavy thump above them; the wooden hatch being shut and locked.

“Hey Beifong.”

Baatar Sr. looked up. It was a soldier without a mask. The person had a stern expression, and waved a key in Baatar’s line of sight. 

“R- Right.”

The guard tossed the key to Baatar, who barely saved it from clattering to the wooden floor. His arms felt weak and wobbly. And continued to feel that way as he fumbled to unlock the wooden shackles from his son.

Once Huan was free, he sat up and put his head between his knees, using his arms to hold himself in that position. His breathing was heavy. 

Baatar turned back to the guard, tentatively getting close to the edge.

“These are sturdy beams. The ropes are strong. It’s not going to break.”

Baatar noticed again that he could see this guard’s face. “Why don’t you wear the mask?” He asked. All filter from his brain to mouth was gone.

“It’s uncomfortable,” said the guard. They extended a hand. “Come on, let’s move it along.” 

Baatar passed the shackles and key through an opening to the guard. They promptly turned away, retracting the metal platforms as they walked. The guard reached the wall of the cavern they all had come from, and passed through the metal door. Then it was silent in the gaping, dimly green cavern. There was a faint whistle of wind. Whatever the soldiers said, this prison felt extremely fragile to Baatar. 

He watched Huan. His son stayed curled up; his breathing was loud, but purposefully paced. Baatar didn’t want to interrupt; his son was hurting enough. Baatar Sr. stared absently at the wooden beams. Perhaps they were oak. He wondered how many old trees were killed to make this cage. He did not watch the dark air around them; it was a nauseating sight. 

After a time, Huan flopped onto his back. Grimaced.

“Doing ok?” Baatar asked.

Huan gestured the universal ‘eh’ motion with his right arm. “Elements?” he asked. 

“Sure,” said Baatar. He considered several possibilities. His go-to element for this game was usually Silver, but maybe he should mix it up. Gold? Zinc? Ah, that decided it. Zinc.

Baatar nodded to Huan.

Huan smiled. “It is a metal?” 

“Yes.”

“Is it a precious metal?”

“No.”

And so they kept playing. Huan won that round -- narrowing the scope of his questions until he could ask “Is it zinc?” as his thirteenth question. He’d had buffer room before the twenty question maximum, though. 

They played other games too, naming games and memory games. The soldiers -- a rotating mix of them -- entered the cavern every once in a while to shout whether the latrine was needed. And if so, they were hauled up out the roof of the cage, and herded along by the guards to get the job done as quickly as possible. 

The process of leaving and re-entering the cage had gotten a little easier for Baatar; strangely, he trusted the soldiers not to drop him. It helped they never locked the wooden shackles around Baatar’s wrists -- he felt better able to balance.

But they always used the shackles for Huan. 

Baatar rapidly grew tired of that.

He also became accustomed to the slight sway of the cage. He would still get nauseous if he looked out over the edges too much, but it was never as bad as the first time.

Throughout this, Huan steadily became more withdrawn than ever before. Baatar Sr. could sometimes pull him into conversation. Sometimes about art, or architecture, or spiritual philosophy. But more often than not, his son responded in monotone, and with muted gestures. 

On day four in the cage had been a breaking point of sorts.

“Please don’t talk to me,” Huan said, his face distressed. “I need---” he gestured wildly with one arm.

Baatar Sr. nodded. 

His son resumed gazing into the dark space around them. He looked very tired, not unlike how Baatar himself felt. Huan leaned against the wooden cage, in the opposite corner from Baatar. This wasn’t something Baatar fully understood, but he knew that having his own space was immensely important to Huan. There had been times when Huan would retreat from their family, only spending time in his room or the atelier. It always bothered Su, and their different approaches to Huan’s need for space was one of the very few things she and Baatar Sr. ever argued about. 

As for their present situation, they had been permanently in each other’s company -- or around the soldiers -- or both -- for five days. That was _a lot_ of time around other people for someone who usually spent most of his time alone. 

Baatar Sr. was also feeling the need for privacy; he usually spent a moderate portion of his day drafting or surveying. During both, more often than not, he was busy in his own head, in his drafting room, or in corners of the city. Even if other people were vaguely nearby, he wasn’t often in extended conversation -- that was often Suyin’s expertise. Since his son was even more reclusive, Baatar Sr. was not at all surprised Huan needed to be as alone as they could get while still imprisoned together. 

However, Baatar did not think an excess of other people was the only thing disturbing his son. Huan would stare into space, lost in his own head, his expression flat. He would become even more withdrawn, almost frozen, after some of the brief trips to the latrine in the guard’s post. Baatar Sr. suspected that Huan was suffering from the whiplash of being on rock for only a few minutes, before being deprived it again for hours.

Baatar tried to discuss the subject with Huan, to confirm his theory. His son had only shrugged and looked away. To Baatar, this seemed a confirmation. He knew only one thing that would help Huan, but he was powerless to do even that. Earth was purposefully out of their reach, suspended as they were in this damnable wooden cage.

Baatar Sr. at several points asked the soldiers for a few pebbles, a small plate of metal. Just _something_ of their element. And while the soldiers did not mock him, or their need, they still shook their heads and refused. Baatar knew his son was sitting behind him as he spoke to the guards, silent and listening. And when those soldiers walked away _again_ , Baatar Sr. could only hang his head. 

At this point, even his own presence was doing more harm than good. Baatar missed Su, and their home. He missed having his family around him -- whole and just... happy. Holding Su’s hand, sudden and playful, as they ate dinner together with their family. Planning updates to their city. Cheering on Wei and Wing in their metal disc competition. Sitting peacefully with Baatar Jr and Huan. Laughing with Opal about silly coincidences. How he missed that contentment. 

After six days of the worst routine of his life, there was a change. Baatar Sr. was woken to the call of the soldier in charge. 

“Stand up, face against the wood, and hands up,” they called. 

Still groggy, Baatar did as he was bid. Huan quickly joined him, and Baatar saw that his son’s hair was fluffed up, like usual. Baatar expected his own hair was about the same. Baatar leaned his forehead against one of the wooden beams and sighed. He wondered what fresh nonsense this was. It felt like this interruption was occurring in the middle of the night, but Baatar had no accurate way to gauge it with certainty.

There was metallic scuffing -- the platforms extending -- Baatar supposed. Then many heavy boots. More than normal, or what seemed normal. Various thumping and grunts and murmurs from the soldiers. The sound of the wooden hatch above them opening.

Then a heavy thud. And a familiar groan. Then: _“Dad?!_ Huan!”

“Wei!” Baatar spun around. His heartbeat thudded in his ears. He got a glimpse of his son, sprawled awkwardly on the wooden floor of the cage, with wooden shackles locked on his wrists and ankles. 

Simultaneously, from above: “Mmrph? Dad’s there?! Hey, watch it!” 

Then, he was shoved back against the beams by a metal hand. It was heavy at the base of his throat. The cage jolted. He was pinned. Baatar felt himself tense; he was right next to the edge of the cage, was half-leaning on it. His arms were awkwardly braced on the wood, partially leaning through the openings to empty space; his stomach somersaulted.

Huan grunted. Baatar saw another metal hand was against the back of his neck, pushing Huan into the wood. His son’s eyes were wide, breathing heavier, but not panicking. 

“Stay put!” a soldier said. 

Another soldier lowered Wing into the cage with metal cords, and the cage swayed. He was dropped onto his side next to Wei, and was also shackled the same. Both were in grey and black stealth clothes -- the very same from their ill-fated sneak attack, Baatar realized.

The twins twisted around on their elbows to see what was happening, but weren’t able to get much leverage. The blocky shackles were awkward to maneuver in. Then Suyin was lowered in; her grey hair swirled around her scowling face, bound the same as the twins.

Baatar was astonished, thrilled, concerned. His family looked as well as he could hope. But the architect in him couldn’t help but jump in. Already, they were also taking up most of the floor space in the wooden cage.

Meanwhile, the soldiers sealed the hatch above them, and hopped down to the metal platform alongside the cage. One bended the metal hands off Huan and Baatar, and then tossed in a wooden key on a cord. 

Baatar caught it as he turned toward the person. “Wait,” he said. “Surely, this isn’t intended for five people? Is it structurally sound?”

Huan came up beside him, and pulled the key from his hand. 

“Dad!” sounded behind him. Wing now. 

“Huan! Were you asleep?” That was Wei.

Huan hummed. “Hold still; don’t twist so.”

The soldier pursed their lips and glanced around nervously. “Well. I think it was only intended for _one_ , actually. But it’s certainly sturdy! You’ll be fine,” the soldier said. They had the gall to pat one of the wooden beams. And then they turned and walked away with the other soldiers, retracting the metal platforms as they went.

As Baatar turned back to his family, Suyin addressed him, her eyes narrowed. “What if they separated us again? Was that really necessary?” A strip of cloth hung around her neck -- a gag, Baatar supposed.

“Yeah, aren’t you happy to see us?” Wing interjected. Wei was helping him sit up while Huan unlocked the ankle cuffs.

Baatar crouched next to Su and kissed her cheek. He helped her sit. “I love you, dear, but this cage is not big enough for all five of us.” 

She sighed. “It’s going to have to be.”

Meanwhile, Huan had pivoted on his toes, brushing his hair aside as he did. He unlocked the ankle cuffs on Su, and then the wrist ones. Then he hung the key around his own neck. 

Baatar turned to Wing. “ _Of course_ I’m glad to see you. Come here.” He hugged Wing, and then pulled in Wei as well. “I was worried,” he muttered into their hair.

“Hey, mom,” said Huan. 

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” she said, embracing their second-eldest. Huan accepted the hug for a moment, and then edged out of her grasp. He returned to the side of the wooden cage that he’d occupied for the last several days.

“What’s wrong?” Suyin said, her eyes narrowed.

Huan was looking out the cage again. He shrugged.

Baatar caught Su’s eyes. “We’ve been up here about seven days,” Baatar explained. “No privacy. And--” Baatar paused, glanced at Huan, said delicately “--I could be wrong, but it’s been very… trying. Without any Earth, being suspended in our opposite.”

Suyin’s expression froze. “Oh,” she said. Her eyes roved over the wood. A stillness settled over the family. From the corner of his eye, Baatar saw Wei and Wing glance at each other, eyes wide. 

Huan nodded, still looking away.

And so several days passed. The family caught each other up on their different experiences after Kuvira claimed Zaofu. Su and the twins had been stuck in Zaofu for three extra days, on the last of which, they were brought with other Zaofu citizens to the encampment above this very homey cavern. It pained Baatar to learn that Su, Wei, and Wing had been trapped on display up there -- for two _more_ days, before being brought underground. He hadn’t even known they were nearby, let alone a couple hundred feet above on the surface. 

The guard’s routine here remained the same, just a lengthier process. 

However, it was a joy to know that his family -- most of it -- was safe. Mostly safe. Baatar took comfort from leaning against Su, back to back, as they used to, when first surveying the valley for Zaofu. He’d been more and more nostalgic, recently.

On the ninth day, there was an outlier event. Baatar was seated almost in the middle of the wooden floor. Suyin had been leaning against his back, but then shifted suddenly.

_“The guards are on the other side of that door. We’ll have to be quiet.”_

He felt her touch his right shoulder. Curious. He turned around to face her; she was smiling. Even more curious. Looking past her, he saw a new opening in the walls of the cavern, and there were three familiar people there.

A pulse of adrenaline beat through him.

Suyin stood, and Baatar Sr. quickly followed, trying to see better between the wooden beams. He wasn’t sure about the others in the cage, but for himself, he could only hear a couple words of the small conversation Toph, Lin, and Bolin seemed to be having. Wei, Wing, and Huan pressed close, all trying to look as well. They waited to see what their family would do. 

_“Shoot me over to the cage and I can swing them back on my cable. Bolin, you’ll have to catch them, since mom won’t be able to see them.”_

A pause.

“ _Ready.”_

**Author's Note:**

> The first four lines of dialogue are direct quotes from the end of "Battle of Zaofu." Last few lines are from "Operation Beifong."
> 
> Thanks for reading! These two characters really touched me, even though neither has a lot of dialogue in the show. It's really interesting to spend time with pacifists/civilians/non-combatants, especially in this world, where bending (and combat) are pretty integral parts of life. And especially with Huan - I figure he's highly advanced with _all_ his earthbending and metalbending - nothing less would be acceptable for a Beifong. He's knowledgeable in fighting and combat, but it's not instinctual for him, and practicing it isn't a passion of his in the same way Korra, Toph, Suyin, or Lin experience it. And yet, why was Huan not in the final fight with his brothers, mom, and aunt? I figured it had to be a conscious choice on his part, and all the more meaningful for it. 
> 
> As for Baatar Senior - I see him as a man who cares very deeply about his family. He's someone who has courage and, even if he's afraid, will stand by what he believes. That said, a lot of this stuff is _extremely_ outside his comfort zone. He's ultimately a civilian. So, although he's trying to be strong and supportive for his family, these experiences as a captive - and the mental strain that puts on someone - is very difficult for him. These are things he never expected, let alone mentally prepared for. So hopefully I portrayed that right.


End file.
